My purpose is to turn the earth,
not to act as a perch
for a rust-ridden bird
made of nuts and bolts
no good for anything else.
My self abhors the chuckles
of passers-by,
they know not what I can handle:
I’ve toiled;
in soil I’ve turned;
I worked hard,
yet I was spurned
and then discarded,
now, I’m found.
Polly Stretton © 2020
Revised for napowrimo #24
journalread 
24/04/2020 at 14:25
Love it – a new use for an old spade in well deserved retirement!
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24/04/2020 at 16:25
Nothing should ever be wasted, ‘eh Libby? Always a way of using discarded items…some more novel than others 😁
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24/04/2020 at 14:35
There is no better place to find oneself than in a creative endeavor. I don’t need to tell you that Polly as you already know. xxx
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24/04/2020 at 16:27
Always good to see it happening, though, isn’t it Léa? Something lovely about being able to create as you know only too well x
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24/04/2020 at 18:12
Polly, you are right as usual. A blogging friend made a comment which I replied off-handedly with a quip and now she wants me to do a book with her writing a chapter… scary stuff? 🤣
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24/04/2020 at 21:53
heh-heh 🤣 Sometimes words leave the tongue before the brain is fully engaged…happens to me often. Good luck with that one, Léa 😘
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25/04/2020 at 09:13
Polly, You are absolutely correct, it often happens here as well. 😉 ❤
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